An Inventory of her Senses
by Elliotsmelliot
Summary: Miles away from the fuselage, Claire fights to stay focused on the present. Spoilers for Beginning of the End.


x x x

One foot. One foot in front of the other. Focus on what's ahead, not behind. No. Focus on what's here now.

Aaron is swaddled tight against her chest. He's all but disappeared into the sea of blankets that make up his insufficient protection from the rain. Claire can't quite see her son but she feels him squirm and twist, try to kick free. It reminds her of a time not so long ago when it was only her body that protected him from the world. That seems like a better shelter than she can offer him now.

Her eyes are glued to Hurley's back. Although he remains the same distance ahead of her, he seems to be shrinking from a big red blur to a withered dot, no small feat for a man of his size. The further he gets away from his speech, each step is less purposeful than the last. But he keeps moving because to stand still would allow everything to catch up.

It would take too much effort to turn around to look at Sawyer but she's well aware of his presence. While everyone else shuffles onward in silence, every step of his is mired in noise. His boots slap the mud, his hands swat away branches, and each action is accompanied by a commentary of grunts and curses. The clamour trails behind him like breadcrumbs and by the sounds of it, he frequently pauses to check, perhaps to hope, that someone is following.

Claire doesn't know how capable Hurley is or how long she can count on Sawyer but for now she senses their loyalties are intertwined. That's more than she can say for the rest of their party which includes at least two people with a history of ripping Aaron from her arms. Then there's John, who after today, she thinks, would not hesitate to throw any one of them into a volcano if he thought it would appease the island gods.

Yet she's at peace with her choice, even though it was a decision that took her and her son away from the closest they've ever gotten to rescue, away from most of her friends, and away from not one but two doctors. She's aware she might feel differently in the morning or even in an hour, whenever the shock wears off and she's able to take the time to process if Jack's wrath toward John was deserved, if Desmond's expression spoke of guilt or sadness, if Charlie's sacrifice meant something or…

No.

If she questions her choice she knows it was for nothing. So she buries her questions on top of the anger and grief and seals it in with numbness. She refuses to linger on the what ifs and what might have beens. If Charlie had let someone else play hero, if only she had not always needed to put Aaron first, if they had met somewhere else altogether.

Despite her best efforts, these thoughts keep trying to surface. She feels them floating around her head struggling to get out. Her ears ring softly with his voice, a mumble of nonsensical words like he's trying to find the right one to finish a lyric. _Cusp. Dire. Hurry. Still. Grasp. Wet. Warmth. Caught. Not. Penny's. Boat. _Images of him flutter across her vision, the cheeky and the dark, the silent and the sweet, the father and the friend.

The taste of coconut and salt dance across her lips, sparking a remembrance of their last kiss but this time his presence is more demanding, more needy. She swears she can feel his hands cup her cheeks and draw her so close that their heads knock together before their lips meet. This time hunger replaces hesitation and she gasps when his teeth nip at her bottom lip and his tongue darts inside her mouth. She opens herself to him, surrenders, lets him have whatever he wants and he takes it all greedily.

His fingers leave her face and trap themselves in her hair. She winces when he pulls too forcefully but he doesn't relent, if anything, he pulls tighter. Claire tries to break the kiss for a moment, to catch her breath, but his mouth refuses to leave hers. Panic bubbles in her chest and she's overcome with dizziness as her body drains of air. Is this what it feels like to drown? Is he taking her with him, she wonders, or merely borrowing her lungs to say good-bye?

When her limbs go limp, his touch loses its intensity. His hands caress her hair and his tongue gently strokes her own. As he murmurs her name, his lips slide away from hers, allowing oxygen to flow through her nose and mouth and sink into every pore. It comes back way too fast and she can't help but choke. She tries to stifle the rush of air by drawing Charlie back to her again, but finds no one is there.

"No!"

The sound of her own voice breaks the trance. Her foot stumbles on a root and she surges forward, nearly banging into Hurley. The change in pace startles Aaron and he lets out an irritated squawk. Hurley turns and studies them with solemn eyes. Seeing that they're fine, as fine as they can be, he turns back, returning to wherever his own thoughts lie. But she sees he's left his arm reaching back so she puts her hand in his and moves to his side.

One foot. One foot in front of the other.

x x x


End file.
